


cool is a four letter word

by asideofourown



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Character Study, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Don't copy to another site, M/M, crowley is a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 12:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asideofourown/pseuds/asideofourown
Summary: Crowley had had his fair share of experience with espionage over the centuries, of course, including a more recent stint at the end of World War 2.  And he had even met Ian Fleming, once, back in the day— a fact that convinced Crowley that he had inspired James Bond’s character in the first place.  A suave, swaggering man of mystery with a cool car and a knack for surviving the unsurvivable?  The resemblance was all too obvious.It had been a little while since he had been mixed up with any intelligence agencies, but the fake bullet hole stickers on his windows did a lot to enhance the aesthetic he was going for.  It almost made him want to go out looking for adventure, find some spies to grapple with or some bad guys to chase.Crowley shrugged slightly and got out of his car, snapping his fingers to lock the doors behind himself.  Maybe he’d, oh... plan a heist or something.[Or: 5 times Crowley and the concept of 'cool' are parallel lines + 1 time they almost cross paths]





	cool is a four letter word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DuendeJunior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuendeJunior/gifts).

> For the lovely [Raiza](https://everymanwillbeaking.tumblr.com/), who pointed out that cool is also a four letter word. And perhaps not one that Crowley is very familiar with ;D
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Any recognizable quotations are likely borrowed from the script of the show, and therefore I do not claim to own them

** _1 **_—_** his name (1927)_ **

Crowley swaggered into the London post office like he owned the place.

Which, he sort of did, at least in his own mind— if owning it meant he had done enough demonic mischief that even setting foot in the building was remarkably irritating for every mortal ever, and Aziraphale still hadn’t forgiven him for inventing queues to wait for things.An invention that he was very quickly regretting.

Crowley scowled deeply as he took note of the queue snaking up to the front counter, and stepped forward to cut to the beginning.He made it about three steps before someone threw out an arm to stop him in his tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man who had stopped him said, scowling deeply.

Crowley straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose and scowled back just as deeply, adding a bit of a demonic edge to it.The man wasn’t phased.“I haven’t got time to wait around, I have an appointment later,” Crowley said after a stunned moment, and glanced casually at his horrendously expensive watch.“So, if you please—“

“I’ve been waiting all bloody week to mail this package, you can go to the back like everyone else,” the man snapped, staring Crowley down.

Taken aback, Crowley didn’t even manage to glare.He raised his hand to snap, to demonically vanish everyone in front of him… and then paused, and stepped over to the back of the queue again with a grimace.It definitely hadn’t been the thought of the way Aziraphale would frown disappointedly at him if he found out Crowley had transported a dozen humans to Middle-of-Nowhere, England that had stopped him from doing exactly that.

So Crowley shuffled his way miserably through the queue, his mere presence making it slower than normal, until he got up to the front counter of the post office.

“How can I help you?” the harried employee (the only one working in the entire place, if the speed of the queue was anything to go by, Crowley thought sourly) said.

Crowley leaned against the counter and tried to smile charmingly.“I’m here to obtain a driving license,” he said.

“That’s five shillings,” the employee said, pulling a yellowish form out from somewhere.Crowley snapped his fingers and the proper amount of money appeared in his hand.“Just fill this out, and sign with your ordinary signature,” the post office employee instructed him.

Crowley glanced over the form, quickly filling out the spaces for his name, address, and the make of his car before signing it with a flourish.He had spent a while picking out a first name, and after rejecting several (Damien?Too stereotypical.Asmodeus, as Aziraphale had once suggested?Not exactly his style.Cain?The history there was just a tad too violent) he had settled on Anthony— worthy of praise, of inestimable worth.Which he rather was.No relation to the saint, though, of course.

The post office employee gave it a disinterested look over, and then said, “You need to fill out your full middle name, sir, not just the initial.”

Crowley blinked in surprise.He hadn’t prepared for that.“Uh, hm, yeah,” he mumbled, and quickly scribbled the first middle name that popped into his head, hopefully illegibly enough that no one would be able to read it.

“Right, you’re all set,” the post office said, and Crowley gave him what he hoped was a cool smile instead of a giddy grin.

“Excellent,” he said.And if he paused outside the post office to excitedly pump his fist and wahoo, clutching his driver’s license in one hand?Miraculously, no humans noticed.

(Years later, decades, the end of the world come and gone, Aziraphale noticed his license. Year after year, Crowley had renewed his initial license— the fuckery an immortal being could do to the official records of humans who usually only lived a handful of decades was delightful. His license was kept in his sleek, modern wallet, which he had tossed carelessly onto a table beside his glasses, before sitting in Aziraphale’s back room for a nice glass or several of wine following a night out. 

As Crowley sipped and lounged, Aziraphale picked up his wallet and curiously leafed through it, pausing on the license. “My dear,” he said slowly, studying it. “I have always wondered, why do you have a license? It’s not as though you would deign to pull over for any officer who tried to catch you speeding.” 

Crowley smirked. “Sometimes I do let them pull me over, for a bit of a lark,” he replied. “It’s awfully fun, not paying speeding fines.” 

“And it’s even registered in your name,” Aziraphale said, and his eyes darted up to Crowley’s face for just a moment. “Only, I thought your middle initial was just a J?” 

Crowley flushed with horror, and remembered what he had scribbled on his first license, decades before. 

Aziraphale couldn’t fight the amused, teasing smile on his face, and he was clearly struggling not to laugh. “Because this is a license for someone named Anthony _Janthony_ Crowley. I had… I had no idea you had such a... such a unique middle name, my dear.” 

Crowley pouted as Aziraphale laughed at him, until the angel kissed him on the forehead before refilling his wine glass.)

* * *

** _2 **_—_** his car (1967)_ **

Buying petrol was not really something that Crowley _did._His car had run just fine on its original tank for the last three decades, and there was no point in imagining money to buy petrol when he could just imagine petrol into his tank.

That was before he heard a specific advert on the radio, and decided then and there to _casually_ swing by a petrol station the next time he was out and about.If that happened to be approximately an hour later, that wasn’t really anyone’s business.

Crowley pulled into the station and filled up his tank as quickly as possible before heading in to pay.He jiggled his leg impatiently as he waited behind the slowest human ever as she bought several tabloids, and then slapped a few bills on the counter, distracted.

“Sir, this is far too much money,” the clerk working said with a frown. 

Crowley ignored her as he spied what he was looking for.Before he could have any second thoughts, he grabbed the package and held it up.“These are free with petrol, right?” he said.

The clerk blinked.“Yes, but—” she started.

Crowley glanced down at the four fifty pound notes he had miracled before coming inside.“It’s fine,” he said, waving a dismissive hand, and then winked in what he hoped was a rakish manner.“You can keep the change.”

He grabbed his package and swaggered out, and was pleased to see that the clerk surreptitiously tucked the extra money in her pocket.Encouraging stealing, not bad for a mostly unintentional temptation.

Crowley managed to wait until he was back at his apartment building, parked illegally of course, before finally looking at the goods he had obtained.He turned off the car’s engine and then carefully tore open the package, gazing down at its contents: official James Bond™ bullet hole transfers, that when stuck on his windows would make it look as though he had been in a car chase or an epic shootout.

Crowley grinned, and made quick work of artfully applying the stickers to his windows, careful to press them on evenly.When he was finished, he sat back and admired his work with deep satisfaction.

He had had his fair share of experience with espionage over the centuries, of course, including a more recent stint at the end of World War 2.And he had even met Ian Fleming, once, back in the day— a fact that convinced Crowley that he had inspired James Bond’s character in the first place. A suave, swaggering man of mystery with a cool car and a knack for surviving the unsurvivable?The resemblance was all too obvious. 

Crowley smirked, quite pleased with himself, and admired his car.It had been a little while since he had been mixed up with any intelligence agencies, but this really brought him back.The fake bullet holes did a lot to enhance the aesthetic he was going for... it almost made him want to go out looking for adventure, find some spies to grapple with or some bad guys to chase.

Crowley shrugged slightly and got out of his car, snapping his fingers to lock the doors behind himself.Maybe he’d, oh... plan a heist or something. 

* * *

** _3 **_—_** his dancing (1975)_ **

It was the middle of the 1970s, and Crowley had convinced Aziraphale to come out drinking with him.

He had subtly insinuated that he might have been assigned a temptation to perform at a popular bar near Soho (he hadn’t), and had then hinted that it might be easier for Aziraphale to thwart him if he tagged along (it wouldn’t), and that it would be quite irritating to Crowley’s job as a demon if he was followed around by an angel (it really, really wasn’t).

For the last few decades, Aziraphale had been rather more cautious in the ways in which he would meet with Crowley, as if he was afraid they ran a greater risk of getting caught fraternizing.Crowley had found that he had the greatest success getting Aziraphale to come out with him if he framed it as a wile/thwart scenario, but if that was what it took to spend time with the angel... Crowley was willing to play that game.

Aziraphale had absolutely, in all likeliness, seen right through him.Yet here he was, by Crowley’s side as they walked together into the bar, so it was pretty clear who the winner was in the end.He had even convinced Aziraphale to ditch his waistcoat for the night, although he was still wearing his bow tie and old, worn Victorian-era jacket.

Aziraphale have Crowley a small, rueful smile as they walked into the bar together.“I’m afraid this isn’t exactly the kind of establishment I’ve frequented in the last few decades, my dear,” he said.“So you’ll have to show me the lay of the land.”

Crowley smirked back.“Gladly.”He led Aziraphale to two miraculously vacant seats at the otherwise crowded bar, next to the equally crowded dance floor, and then said, “What do you want to drink?”

Aziraphale hesitated, and then replied, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Crowley ordered their drinks at random, and then settled into his chair and slung one arm over the back, reclining casually.“So, what have you been up to?” he asked, the absolute picture of cool nonchalance.“Haven’t seen much of you since ‘71.” 

Aziraphale wrung his fingers a little anxiously.“I’ve been here and there,” he replied a little cryptically.“Busy with the bookshop.”

“Still not selling books?” Crowley chuckled. 

Aziraphale looked mildly appalled.“Of course not, you can’t give rare first editions to just anyone!” Crowley laughed, and after a moment Aziraphale joined him.

They fell into a rhythm after that, back and forth, catching up and trading gossip as they sipped their drinks.Aziraphale, as he was wont to do, loosened up a little as the night went on, and even went so far as to roll up his sleeves a bit.Crowley didn’t loosen up so much as relax where he was, sprawling comfortably as he drank in a position not entirely possible for the average human's spinal cord.He had been tuning out the music playing from somewhere in the bar as he focused on talking to Aziraphale, but as a song Crowley recognized came on he interrupted himself to say, “Oh, I like this one.”

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked politely, even though Crowley was certain he probably didn’t care.After all, the last time he had been by the angel’s bookshop for a drink, Aziraphale had apologized for playing ‘still rather modern’ music before putting on a record of a Tchaikovsky symphony.

He answered anyway, “It’s by a band called Queen.They’re pretty new, but they’ve got decent music, the kind you don’t really get tired of quickly.I’ve been meaning to get a tape or two for my car, just haven’t gotten around to it.”He shook his head to refocus, and then raised one eyebrow and asked with a gesture to the dance floor, “Would you like to dance?”

Aziraphale almost seemed to think for a moment, and then shook his head.“I’ll pass on this one, my dear,” he said.“I’m afraid it would be difficult to gavotte to...” he tilted his head, listening, and then finished, “_I’m in Love With My Car_.”He reached out and patted Crowley’s hand.“Don’t let me stop you from having fun, though.”

Crowley shrugged.“Suit yourself,” he replied, draining the last few mouthfuls of his drink before getting to his feet.“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”He swaggered out into the dance floor just as the song reached the chorus, and began to dance.

Crowley was a fantastic dancer, of course, all demons were— and Crowley, having spent the most time on Earth of any demon, was able to execute the grooviest possible dance moves on the planet.He was boogying down, absolutely destroying the dance floor, when he suddenly felt a hand on his elbow. 

And then Aziraphale was pulling him back over to the bar and saying in his ear, “Crowley!Are you quite alright?”

Crowley stared at him wide eyed from behind his tinted glasses.“Of course?” he replied.“Angel, what the Heaven are you talking about?”

Aziraphale peered closely at him, and then glanced suspiciously back at the dance floor.“You were writhing all over the place, it looked like you were in the throes of agony,” he said worriedly. “I was worried that Hell had gotten to you.”

Crowley sullenly pulled his arm out of Aziraphale’s light grip.“I was _dancing_,” he said emphatically.

Aziraphale’s frown changed from worried to confused.“I thought modern dancing was more like—” He did a little wiggle in place, and Crowley hated how cute it was.

He scoffed instead, crossing his arms over his chest.“Not since the 1950s,” he replied.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, and now he sounded embarrassed.He absently smoothed down the crumpled fabric of Crowley’s silk shirt where he had grabbed his arm, and said, “I’m quite sorry for interrupting, then.I’ll let you finish dancing.”

Crowley huffed, and sat back down in his abandoned seat.“No point,” he grumbled, his pride a little bruised.It wasn’t like Aziraphale could dance any _better_ than him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and sat back down as well.“If you’re sure,” he said a little uncertainly, and then shrugged.“You were telling me about your M25 presentation?”

Crowley squinted.He knew Aziraphale was teasing him, or appeasing him, or trying to stroke his ego somehow.But his presentation _had_ been quite something... “Right,” Crowley said, waving the bartender over and pushing away the last of his embarrassment— not that demons got embarrassed, definitely not demons like him.“So are you familiar with the Black Priesthood of Ancient Mu?”

* * *

** _4 **_—_** his tempting (1998)_ **

Crowley leaned across the table in the crowded, dim bar and smiled slyly over the rim of his glass.“Can’t do too much harm, can it?” he said in a low, smooth voice.“It’s just a bit of money.No one will ever notice.”

The human across from him, the human he was meant to be tempting, anxiously bit his lip.“I’m not sure,” he said.

Crowley elegantly arched an eyebrow.“Just imagine what it will do for you,” he purred (although it was really more of a hiss).“Enough to leave your job, live in luxury for the rest of your life.And all it would take is just a teeny bit of stealing.Not that anyone would really _call_ it that, would they?Is it really stealing, if it’s from people so rich they wouldn’t even notice?”

“No, I suppose not,” the man murmured thoughtfully.Crowley fought back a smile, reveling in the familiar pang of satisfaction at a temptation nearly well done.

“I… well, it would be rather nice,” the man said, almost to himself.“I mean, to be able to retire.And if they really wouldn’t notice…?”

He looked up hopefully at Crowley, who allowed himself a small, comforting smirk.“I’ve seen the place myself,” he said softly.“You could mislay the contents of a bank and no one would blink an eye.And if anyone noticed?You’d be _long_ gone by then.”

“Long gone,” the man repeated breathlessly.

Crowley nodded encouragingly, and nudged the metaphorical forbidden fruit just within reach.“So, if you like, I can tell you where to find those security codes.You can trust me.”

He was focused, so intent that the bar around them seemed to fade away just a bit.This was the _critical moment,_ the tipping point.

The man set his jaw, nodded firmly.“Right, I—“ he started.

And then, from behind: “Crowley!”

A hand clamped down on Crowley’s shoulder a split second after the delighted cry, and Crowley had been so _focused_ that he hadn’t even noticed someone sneaking up on him, and he gasped and jumped, startled, and—

And then Crowley was staring up at the rough bottom of the table he had been sitting at just a moment before.The man he had been tempting screamed and pushed his chair away from the table, and Crowley watched with a sullen hiss as his legs disappeared out the door.

A moment later, a familiar face appeared, the person it was attached to crouching.“Crowley?” Aziraphale said with a worried frown.“I’m sorry I startled you, my dear.”

Crowley slithered out from under the table, slowed only a bit by the stickiness of the bar’s floor, and transformed back into his human-shaped corporation.“You didn’t startle me,” he grumbled, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair and miracling another pair of sunglasses before sliding them on.“’S a defense mechanism.Instinct.I wasn’t _startled.”_

Aziraphale straightened, and clasped his hands in front of him.“Either way.I’m sorry for activating your _defense mechanism.”_He raised an eyebrow, and added, “Although, I suppose I _was_ doing my job.Of thwarting you.”He shrugged.

Crowley’s scowl deepened, and he spun around to look at the bar’s door, but the man he had been tempting was long gone.“You bassstard!” he exclaimed.“I had _jussst_ convinced him to commit a proper heist!From bloody _billionairesss!”_

Aziraphale looked properly put out, although he could probably tell that Crowley’s anger was mostly performative._Mostly._“Can I make it up to you?” he asked hopefully, and Crowley deflated like a punctured balloon.

“I suppose you can buy me a drink,” he said, and flopped down into his abandoned chair in a close approximation of sitting.

Aziraphale beamed at him, and Crowley’s heart _definitely_ didn’t melt.

* * *

** _5 **_—_** his angel (2016)_ **

It was just a mere three years before the expected apocalypse, and Crowley planned to spend his remaining time on Earth as indulgently as possible.

Not that he hadn’t been living the past six thousand years indulgently, he was a demon after all, it was just... with doom staring him in the face and millennia at his back, three years didn’t seem like much time.And as much as Crowley wanted to hope (and even pray, in some of his weakest moments) that his and Aziraphale’s efforts would be enough to avert Armageddon, he had been alive long enough to know that things didn’t often work out in the favor of a demon.

So, in the spirit of enjoying what they had left, Crowley had invited Aziraphale out for dinner on one of their days off from working at the Dowling residence.They had agreed to meet at one of Aziraphale’s favorite places, a little family owned restaurant that he claimed served the best shepherd’s pie in London.

Crowley was, predictably, a few minutes late, so when he walked in he found his angel already seated in the corner perusing the menu.Aziraphale looked up and smiled as Crowley approached, and Crowley was mildly relieved to see that he had ditched his Brother Francis disguise, fake teeth and all.“How did your meeting with Hell go?” he asked as Crowley sat with a grunt.“I’ve already ordered you a brandy, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Crowley mumbled.He pulled the band from his hair and absently redid his artfully messy half ponytail as he said, “I told them the usual— that Warlock’s fabulously evil and delightfully twisted, and Hell has an excellent chance at winning the war once the Apocalypse begins.”

Aziraphale sighed softly, and actually put down his menu.“I’ve been telling Heaven much the same,” he said worriedly.“Just the inverse, of course.But Crowley, I do hope it’ll be enough—”

“No use fretting too much,” Crowley interrupted quickly.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together.“I’m not convinced you’re fretting enough, now that you’ve convinced me we must act,” he replied a tad disapprovingly.

Crowley’s breath stuttered at that, and years of stress, worry, anxiety, fear, dread flashed through his mind in an instant.“I don’t want to argue tonight,” he said quietly, and then silently kicked himself.That was not in any way a demon-like thing to say.

Aziraphale studied him, his expression serious.“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said.

Crowley’s patience fizzled, he snapped his fingers, and his brandy appeared politely in front of him.He drained it in one mouthful and then glared hard at the glass until it refilled itself.

At that moment a waiter approached them, and said, “Are you ready to order, sirs?”

Aziraphale hemmed and hawed for a moment before ordering the shepherd’s pie, as he always did, and Crowley ordered soup he knew he wouldn’t eat and a bottle of wine for the two of them to share.When the waiter had left, Aziraphale said in a low voice, “Crowley, I know you don’t want to talk about our... jobs, so we won’t.But don’t you want to make contingencies?”

Crowley thought of the holy water in his flat’s safe.“The Andromeda galaxy is usually nice in the summer,” he said instead.“We could take a holiday.”He hesitated, worried he had overstepped.“_I_ could, at least.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully.“It’s been busy, these last few years,” he murmured.“Odd to think, that it seems to almost have passed slower than the six thousand that came before.”He looked up, made eye contact with Crowley even through Crowley’s sunglasses.“I don’t think we’ve spent this much contiguous time together in quite a while, my dear,” he said directly.“And yet, a holiday does sound rather nice.Maybe... maybe if the world doesn’t... well, you know.”He looked down again, almost bashful.

Crowley’s heart caught in his throat, and for a moment he forgot how to make his lungs work.In the low light of the restaurant, Aziraphale’s blond hair seemed almost to glow like a curly halo around his head, and his eyes shone bright and cautiously affectionate.“Huh,” he managed to wheeze, and then took another swing of alcohol that burned his throat on the way down.

Aziraphale frowned slightly. “I don’t suppose Heaven would much like that, though,” he added almost to himself.

_I don’t suppose Heaven would much like all the fraternizing you’ve been doing the last six thousand years_, Crowley didn’t say.“Fair point,” he said instead, and then shrugged and changed the subject.“Oh, hey, did you hear about that new dinosaur fossil they unearthed in Wales?”

Aziraphale smiled, and let him shape the course of their conversation.“I did, yes.Delightful, how excited the humans were about it.”

Crowley and Aziraphale chatted about paleontology until the waiter came back with their meal, steaming enticingly as it was placed on their table.“Oh!” Aziraphale said with an enormous smile, picking up his fork.“Thank you, my dear boy, this looks wonderful,” he said to the waiter.

Crowley fiddled with his spoon, watching and trying not to look like he was watching as Aziraphale carefully took a bite of his dinner.“Mm!” he exclaimed happily, his eyes falling closed as he wiggled slightly in place, his expression filled with bliss.Crowley swallowed hard, struck.

“-xcuse me?Sir?”The waiter gently tapped Crowley’s shoulder, and Crowley tore his eyes away just as Aziraphale took a second, elated bite.“I said, is there anything else you two need?” the waiter asked, just a tad impatiently.

“Ngk,” Crowley said.With effort, he filled his chest with air, unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and said, “Nuh.No.Nope.”

“Right,” The waiter said, and took his leave.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, looking up with a pleased smile.“I do believe this is there best they’ve ever made this shepherd’s pie.Would you like to try a bite?”He carefully lifted his fork, piled with food, and held it out. 

Crowley exhaled a little shakily.“Sure,” he said.Aziraphale beamed at him, and held the fork out a little further, one hand cupped underneath to prevent any spillage.

Crowley gathered his wits, accepted (not in any way for the first time, and likely not the last) that he was so _completely_ gone for the angel, and leaned forward to eat off Aziraphale’s fork.The smile Aziraphale gave him as he leaned back again was blinding, and Crowley’s heart fluttered behind his rib cage.

_Damn. _

* * *

** _+1 — his trial (2019)_ **

Aziraphale allowed himself the luxury of one long, quiet exhale as he was marched into the depths of Hell before straightening his shoulders and walking with a familiar, rolling swagger.

If Crowley was going to survive this, Aziraphale would need to do the best acting he ever had.He couldn’t slip for even a moment, couldn’t ever let his panic show, if he was ever going to convince the denizens of Hell that _he_ was the fearsome demon Crowley, the Original Tempter, the Serpent of Eden, the architect of such monstrosities as the Spanish Inquisition and the second world war.

Not that… not that that was Crowley, exactly.As far as _Aziraphale_ knew, at least.And he knew, he _knew._He had known Crowley for thousands of years._He_ knew that Crowley was vastly more bark than bite._He_ knew that Crowley would much rather save as many children as possible instead of letting the world drown._He_ knew that when Crowley had so much as heard of the Spanish Inquisition he had been so horrified he had gotten absolutely plastered for a week straight.In short, _he_ knew that Crowley was actually rather kind for a demon.

But Hell didn’t know that, it seemed.They had knocked him out, for Heaven’s sake!Aziraphale, in Crowley’s form, was apparently so intimidating to the Dukes of Hell that he had been smashed with a crowbar and had awoken already restrained.

Aziraphale kept his eyes forward, his chin raised defiantly, as he was led down a grimy, dim hallway to wherever the facsimile of Crowley’s trial was meant to take place.He was brought to a hallway that ended in a dank little room with a throne on a small dais.Across from the throne was a glass window set into the wall, behind which demons and ghouls were already gathered to watch, and in front of that sat a disgusting-looking bathtub.

Aziraphale set his jaw grimly, and tried not to stare too much at what he could see of the bathtub as he was jerked to a stop outside the door.It seemed like Crowley’s hunch had been on the money— Hell would want to kill him as he had killed one of their own.

Beelzebub strolled into the trial room, accompanied by their entourage, and sprawled on their throne. The other demons arranged themselves at Beelzebub's sides, and a little sluglike demon said,“The trial of the demon Crowley, beginning with evidence and ending with utter obliviation, is in session. All rise!”

“Bring in the traitor,” Beelzebub buzzed.

Aziraphale was all but shoved in front of the demons, bathtub at his back, and he did his best to survey the room in a cool, nonchalant manner.“Hey, guys,” he said, aiming for the level tone Crowley affected when he was trying to act unruffled.“Nice place you got here.”

“Not for you, it won’t be,” Hastur mumbled, and Aziraphale barely resisted the urge to smite him then and there, righteous fury stirring in his chest.

He pushed it down, and answered calmly, “Could do with some house plants.Maybe a coffee table.”

“Silence!” Beelzebub ordered, clearly losing what little patience they had.“The prisoner shall approach.”

Aziraphale stepped forward, rolling his neck a little.“Love to,” he quipped coolly, making eye contact with the Prince of Hell through Crowley’s sunglasses.“So, four of us,” he said, quickly glancing at Hastur and a demon he assumed was Dagon, based on Crowley’s talk of Hell.“Rubber of bridge?Barbershop quartet?”He wracked his brain, trying to think of something else that involved four people, but came up blank.In his defense, he was panicking just a bit.

“The trial of a traitor,” Beelzebub said, unamused.

Aziraphale exhaled softly, and tried not to deflate.Crowley, the Crowley that Hell knew, wouldn’t give up.He wouldn't show a shred of fear.“Lord Beelzebub,” he said, mustering as much bravado as possible.“You are...?”He trailed off meaningfully, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m the judge,” Beelzebub drawled, and somehow managed to slouch even more on their throne.

“And I’m the prosecutor,” Hastur said with a nasty smile.He looked like he was having the time of his life.

Aziraphale licked his lips nervously and glanced again at Dagon, surprised that Hell was even presenting the facade of a fair judicial system.“And so Dagon here is defending me?”

Dagon grinned, showing silvery teeth.“Oh, I’m afraid not.No, I’m just here in case there’s anything you’ve done that they forgot.”

Aziraphale stifled a sigh and nodded.Of course.

“We built this place for you specially,” Beelzebub said with false magnanimity, leaning forward.“It shall be your place of trial.And it shall be your place of execution.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly, his stomach churning as he processed that.“Guys,” he said with mocking affection.“You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble!” He grinned, although it really felt more like he was baring his teeth. "What appears to be the problem?"

The trial went about as well as anyone would expect a trial held in Hell by vengeful and angry demons could.Most of the things they accused Aziraphale in Crowley’s place of were true, or at least true-ish, and the demons got more riled up as they listed Crowley’s crimes until the verdict was delivered and the punishment sentenced.Just as Crowley had suspected, and Aziraphale had feared— death by holy water.

And then the archangel Michael walked in, her heels clicking on the grimy concrete floors of Hell, and Aziraphale nearly had a heart attack.

He was certain, at that moment, that the game was up.

That Michael would be able to sense the spark of divinity in the being that looked like Crowley.

That they would drag the _real_ Crowley down to Hell and execute him.

That Aziraphale would have to watch as his friend, his demon, his love, the best thing to happen to him in six thousand years, melted into a puddle of goo.

But Michael barely even spared him a glance, too busy sneering at the demons around her.Aziraphale managed to school Crowley’s features into a mask of vaguely disapproving nonchalance as holy water poured endlessly from Michael’s jug to fill the bathtub, wincing only slightly as the sluglike demon was destroyed to prove that it was the real deal.

And then Beelzebub, as happy as the average demon could ever get, said, “Demon Crowley, I sentence you to extinction by holy water.Have you anything to say?”

Aziraphale squared his shoulders, thinking hard.What would Crowley do?Or rather, what would the cool, powerfully intimidating Crowley that Hell saw do?“Well, yes,” he said slowly, and almost smiled at a thought occurred to him.“Um, this is a new jacket, and I’d hate to ruin it.Do you mind if I take it off?”He allowed himself a small shrug.

Beelzebub stared at him, nonplussed.They had clearly expected Aziraphale to at least beg for his life, or try to talk his way out of his sentence.His nonchalance was obviously irritating them.

Without waiting for an answer, Aziraphale snapped his fingers to undo the ropes around his wrists, and then shrugged off Crowley’s jacket.He glanced over his shoulder and hummed thoughtfully before he continued to strip, pulling off his shirt and shucking off his pants and boots.After a moment of thought, he kept the socks on— with his luck, he would get some odd foot fungus from Hell’s floors if he went about barefoot.

Down to his socks and skivvies, Aziraphale smiled winningly at a shocked Beelzebub.“In I go,” he said cheerfully and swaggered over to the bathtub, lifting himself over the lip before lowering himself into the water.

As soon as Aziraphale touched the water, all of the demons in the room flinched back, expecting him to dissolve.Aziraphale bit back a tickled smile and adjusted himself against the side of the tub.The water was a bit chilly, and definitely very holy, and he reveled in the growing terror from every demon in the room with perhaps a bit more vindictive pleasure than an angel was usually allowed.

He splashed a bit, enjoying the way the holy water slid harmlessly over his hands, and then flicked a little water at the demons gawping at him from behind the window.They all scrambled back with a scream, and Aziraphale let himself grin, splashing again.The water was warming a bit, its divinity responding to his angelic nature, and it was almost pleasant.

Aziraphale lolled his head back and said coolly, “I don’t suppose that anywhere in the nine circles of Hell there’s such thing as a rubber duck?”He waited expectantly, glancing up, and received no answer.He sighed.“No?”

Beelzebub, Hastur, and Dagon stared at him in horror.Aziraphale’s lips curled into a lazy smile.He had heard plenty from Crowley, over the years, about his superiors.It was rather amusing to see them all speechless.“Hm,” Aziraphale hummed, and then amused himself by splashing a little more water at the demons behind the glass, trying not to giggle as they screamed and jumped back.

“He’s gone native," Beelzebub said, an odd note in their voice. "He isn’t one of us anymore.”

Aziraphale tilted his head, swirled little whirlpools into his holy water bath.This was really the moment that would count.It was up to Aziraphale to make sure that no one from Hell ever bothered Crowley again.Crowley’s life could very well depend on what he said next.

Channeling every ounce of unruffled cool from deep within himself, Aziraphale pulled himself a bit more upright and said, “So, you’re probably thinking, _if he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?" _He casually draped one arm over the edge of the tub, raised one eyebrow _just so._ "And very, very soon, you’re all going to get the chance to find out.”He smiled savagely.

“He’s bluffing,” Hastur snarled, but even from a few meters away Aziraphale could see his hands shaking.“We can take him.One demon against the rest of Hell?What’s he going to do?”

“Shut it!” Beelzebub snapped, and they were clearly aware that their control was hanging by a thread.“Get him out of here, this’ll cause a riot!” They jumped to their feet, hurrying forward to shoo away the demonic spectators. "Nothing to see here!" Aziraphale helped them by flicking a little more holy water at the window.

An elevator dinged and Michael appeared again, walking briskly down the hall. She paused in shock when she saw who she thought was Crowley sitting pretty in his bathtub of holy water. 

Very quickly, before she could examine anything too closely and figure him out, Aziraphale cried cheerfully, “Michael, dude!Do us a quick miracle, will you?I need a bath towel.” He held out an expectant hand.

And, miracle of miracles, Michael did, the celestial energy ringing through Hell before she handed Aziraphale the towel.He took it, making sure not to touch her lest she sense his true nature.And then carefully, deliberately, he said in a firm voice, “I think it would be better for everyone if I were to be left alone in the future.”He raised his eyebrows.“Don’t you?”

He glanced around the room until everyone, even Michael, agreed.“Right,” Aziraphale said, clutching the towel, and scrunched up his nose playfully.He got out of the tub, making sure to splash a little more water in Hastur’s direction.Hastur jumped back and made a sound that might have been described as a whimper.

Aziraphale focused on his selfishness, his pride, his irritation, and miracled himself dry as demonically as he could manage.That done, he grabbed Crowley’s jacket and slung it over his shoulder before tossing the towel in Beelzebub’s direction.It landed over their head, and they twitched to get it half off their face.

“Give this a wash sometime, would you?” Aziraphale said.He winked at them, waved jauntily at a seething and petrified Hastur, and nodded to Dagon.

And then Aziraphale swaggered out of Hell, Crowley’s reputation as _cool_ firmly cemented. 

**Author's Note:**

> -The headcanon that Crowley's middle initial stands for Janthony isn't mine, but it's one I find hilarious regardless  
-This is tagged as canon compliant because you can't prove to me that it's not. The notion that Crowley is not in any way cool is a hill I will die on  
-Obviously a lot of the dialogue in the last scene is directly from the show, I just filled in a few blanks  
-Perhaps there is some historical fuckery, I did as much research as I was willing for what's kind of just a 6k shitpost; if there's anything egregiously wrong, let's assume that's how Crowley expected it to be, and therefore it was as expected
> 
> Thank you ever so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I can be found [here](https://asideofourown.tumblr.com/) if that's something you're into.


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